Tension

I haven’t felt his lips in over a month, maybe two. He’s disappeared again, overwhelmed by the world and my arrival into his. I think about him every day.

I close the door behind him as he comes in and reach up to embrace him. I feel him shake as his breath shutters and sighs and we stand there like that for some time before I peel my body from his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I met him nearly a year ago when he was only 6 months sober. I swiped right on account of cute pictures of the dog he adopted and his sense of humour. “Won’t make you into a skin lamp,” his short profile said.

Our first date he suggested going for a walk with his dog. He told me everything I needed to know in the first 10 minutes: his sobriety, the recent death of his mom, his son, and his bad relationships with women in the past.

After the first few magical dates, I understood his confessions more fully. He had come over a handful of times for sex, usually he would make plans with me and show up late, or text to see if he could come over at the last minute. Our time together was intense and usually began with fucking and ended with some deep confessions about how we were managing, or mismanaging our lives.

One day he cancelled our date but called me. He spoke very slowly as he considered them, his words dripping with emotion, “I don’t want you to think our time together didn’t have value. I care about you and I think you deserve better than a half-assed effort. They say you shouldn’t date for another year after becoming sober and I didn’t follow that. I didn’t expect this. I still have so many feelings to sort out.” I struggled with how cliche it all sounded but heard the pain in his voice. I couldn’t keep my voice steady when I told him it hurt me to hear it.

Eventually he wanted to see me again. We did the usual: he came over and we had sex like we’d never been apart. It was always his serve or his play and I was always waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today, bad news brings him to my apartment—I’ve never seen him so destroyed. He tells me he’s been drinking. I get a mason jar from my cupboard and turn on the tap. I tell myself to calm down while I take a deep breath and let the water run over my finger until it feels cold enough to tingle. I take him the dripping jar and then back away, choosing to sit across the room on a stool. I watch him rest his neck back and close his eyes.

“Are you tired?” I ask and he nods slowly, “You can lie down if you want to. Go lie down.” I wave him towards my bedroom but stay in my seat. I could follow him…but I shouldn’t. I watch him get up and walk past me.

“I’ve got to use your washroom,” he says, walking through the bedroom. Sitting in front of the couch and behind the coffee table so he thinks I can’t see, is a mickey of vodka. I feel a wave of nausea and realize I’m in over my head.

I hear him call my name. “Yeah?” I get up and walk towards my bedroom. I hear him mumble something. I can see him lying face down into the mattress.

“What is it?” I ask.

He turns his face toward me, “Will you rub my back?”

Sure you can, I tell myself, just do it over his clothes. “Sure,” I answer.

He rolls over and removes his sweatshirt. I feel the heat of him through his t-shirt, and rub him, wishing he was sober.

“Do you know how often I think about you?”

My heart skips when I hear him say it. “No,” I reply softly.

“All the time. I fantasize about you, too.” I let it hang in the air and echo in my ear. He’s never talked about us so openly.

“You know how I feel about you,” I whisper.

“Yes.” He rolls himself away from me, onto his back, and I lay down next to him. With one arm he pulls closer and wraps me, turning my body away from him. I can feel his warmth from my calves to my neck. He kisses my neck with his breath on my ear. I make a sound.

“Let me give you a massage. I want to make you feel good.”

I smile. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because you shouldn’t.” I am wearing a long black short sleeved dress and I can feel his hand lightly moving up and down my thigh, each time a little higher. When he reaches around the front of my thigh I swat his hand. “Cut it out.”

“I want to eat you out so bad,” he whispers in my ear, making me arch my back, pushing my ass into him. “Please, just let me eat you out,” he begs.

“No,” I whine in torture. “You can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because.” The answer is too complicated for me to articulate.

It’s disturbing to me how functioning he seems to be. A messy, slurring, sleepy drunk would be a better reminder of the circumstances, but instead he is so damn charming.

“Want to finish giving me a massage then?” He reaches up, grabbing a bottle of oil. “A real one this time?” He smirks at me.

I growl, “Alright.”

I blush with embarrassment recalling my recent awkwardness. I sit up as he rolls onto his stomach, straddle him, sitting on his ass, and help him remove his t-shirt.

“Does this feel okay?” I ask sarcastically, wiggling from side to side.

“Uh huh,” he chuckles.

I pump the oil into my hands, rubbing them together and lathering his back, starting with his shoulders. A moment passes as I hypnotically lean into his back, watching my fingers push and release into his oil-slick tanned skin. He has a perfect body: olive skin, broad-shoulders, and he’s an inch or two taller than me. I feel as familiar with his body as I am with my own.

“Can I tell you what I fantasize about?” he asks.

Do I really want to know? “Yes,” I let out with my exhale. I continue to press the heightened emotions I am feeling into his back.

“It’s stupid, you’ll laugh.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I just want to take you to dinner.” He pauses as I pinch his shoulders. “On a date, a real date. And have that anticipation, you know?”

“Yes,” I agree. “The fun part.”

“I imagine you’re wearing a dress,” he continues, “with a thong underneath. And on the way home we find a quiet street or alley because we can’t contain ourselves. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” I whisper. One worded answers are easier to manage. I push my knuckles down either side of his spine, between his shoulder blades, and as I slide to his lower back I squeeze my thighs a little as if to say, don’t stop talking.

“I’ll lift up your dress and put my mouth over your underwear, feeling how wet you get through the fabric.”

“Then I’ll just slip in a finger, really slowly, maybe just the tip at first. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” I whisper, “I like it when you do that.” My hands have found a sort of rhythm now, up to his neck and shoulders and back down.  

“When you can’t stand it, I’ll put in two fingers, nice and slow and deep. But you can’t come yet. I’ll move my mouth over your nipples, feeling them, teasing them through your dress. I’ll hold your hands above your head so you can’t move them.”

“Uh huh.” I throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut, unbelieving, before I continue his massage.

“Then I’ll quickly move aside your thong and enter you deeply, fucking you until you come. And then I’ll cum inside you. Would you like that?”

“Yessss,” I whine. I move in silence for some time, noticing how loud my breath has become.

“How wet are you right now?” I can hear him smile. I’ve told him, all I have to do is think about him or hear his voice and I’m ready.

“I’m not telling.”

“What? You said we couldn’t do anything, you didn’t say we couldn’t talk.”

“You’ve got a point,” I laugh, wiggling on top of him again. I can’t remember the last time I felt this turned on.

“Okay!” He rolls, putting me off balance, "It’s your turn!” and I turn back beside him again looking at his grin. He could get a woman to do anything with that smile.

“No!” I laugh.

“Come on, I promise I won’t try anything. It’s just your back.” I smile at him and he smiles in return, knowing he has me convinced. “Okay,” he says with a smirk, getting up. “I’ll give you some privacy so you can change into shorts or something.”

“You mean big baggy sweatpants!” I call after him.

He laughs. “Sure, whatever,” and closes the door behind him.

What are you doing? I think to myself as I dig through a drawer of clothes, searching for my baggy roots sweatpants. They’re not there. All I can see are shorts. Damn him. I throw on denim shorts and remove my bra. I hold up a shirt to cover my chest.

“Ready?” he knocks and opens the door.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I walk through the doorway and past him to get a glass of water for myself. “I could only find shorts,” I mumble as I go past.

I can hear him laugh from the kitchen. I return, setting the jar on the headboard and lie down, careful to remove the shirt so that he can’t see my breasts. I can feel him watching my body carefully. He sits on my ass and I’m comforted by the weight and the feel of his hands on me. I make a sound.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, amused and using his seductive voice.

“Yes,” I groan, “I love the feel of your hands on me.”

“Oh. My. God,” he says dramatically, smoothing up and down my sides, grazing my breasts.

“What?” I mumble.

“What are you grateful for?” he asks me.

“What am I grateful for?” I repeat. That’s not what I was expecting. “Everything! My health, my friends, my family, their good health. Living here.”

“Yeah but what else?”

“My work, my coworkers…”

“Yeah but what else? You should be grateful for this body! Look at you, you’re amazing.”

“Oh,” I laugh. “I’m glad you feel that way.” I’m shy and surprised; he’s never mentioned my looks before, only comments about how sweet or thoughtful I am.

I relax, appreciating every movement of his hands. Moments pass and I can feel him lower his chest down onto my back, the heat off him sends a shiver through me as he continues to straddle me. I feel the vibrations of his deep voice in my ear, sending electricity through me and causing heat between my legs.

“How wet are you now?”

I reach my arms back, grabbing his denim covered ass and pulling him further against my body.

“You know how wet I am.” He rolls off me and spoons me again. His hands move up my body, cradling my breasts in his hands, he turns his face towards mine. I stop and turn away, pushing his hands. “I can’t.”

“I want you so badly.”

“I want you, too.” He moves his hands again, one to pinch my nipple softly and the other slowly sliding toward the hem of my shorts. I leap up, covering my chest with the shirt and breathing heavily while I pace the floor.

“This is too much.” I put my hand through my hair and hold it there, gripping.

“Are you okay?” He asks truly concerned. “What is it?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay.” He sounds hesitant as he puts a pillow under his head and looks at me intensely. I stop moving and stare into his eyes.

“I’ve been seeing someone.” I go back to pacing. “I didn’t hear from you for over a month. I felt like I had to move on with my life, so I opened the app again and found someone. He’s not my boyfriend but we agreed that we wouldn’t sleep with other people.” I stop and look at him.

“Oh.” He winces. “That’s understandable.” By the look of shock on his face he really didn’t see this one coming. Seeing his expression makes me both want to smack him and comfort him. I sit down next to him and put my hand on his cheek. “I can’t judge you for that,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“Is he nice?”

“Uhh…” Where is he going with this? I think as I slide my hand from his cheek and turn away.

“Yes.” Yes, he is nice but he’s not you.

“Good. That’s all I’m going to ask.”

I laugh. “Good. That’s all I’m going to tell you.” I look down at his pained smile. “You know how I feel about you. I want you.” I lean toward him and kiss his mouth hungrily, then softly as he pulls me to lay down beside him.

“I don’t want to think about him fucking you,” he whispers, tilting my head up to his by holding my jaw in his hand.

“Then don’t,” I kiss him, really taking my time to suck on his lips, moving slowly.

“I love your mouth,” he stops to say.

“Oh my god, what am I doing?” I turn myself away from him and groan into a pillow.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything.” He scoops me in closer to him again and sucks on my ears, breathing into them and kissing down my neck.

“Will you be a good girl for me?” he asks as he continues and I can feel the goosebumps along my arms and my nipples getting hard.

“Yes.”

Then I hear myself saying,”You know what I like?”

“What?” I can hear his smile.

“When I tell you I’m about to come and you stop me. It makes me crazy. In a good way.”

“So you like to be teased?” I can tell he’s getting a kick out of this.

“By you, yes.” I smile as I turn to kiss him and grind into him while he plays with my hard nipples. He rolls me toward him to suck on one, then bites down.

“Softer,” I moan. He does what I say and it’s the perfect tease, pain and tenderness. This time he lifts the waist on my shorts and I can feel the seam of the denim crotch rub against my clit. I rock my hips into him, pressing and pulling.

“Oh god,” I moan again, on the brink of orgasm.

A moment of consciousness interrupts my bliss and I stop myself. “We shouldn’t.” I turn back towards him, cradling his face in my hands. I kiss him long and slow.

Time slips by with the two of us making out and talking. He gets his bottle of vodka and takes the last few gulps.

“Do you have any wine?” He sits up in excitement, not looking at me. “Or beer that I could have?”

“No.”

He sighs and pulls me into him, my head under his chin. “Okay,” he whispers. “But I think if you knew how much this hurt…I just need to bring myself down a bit slower, that’s all.”

He relaxes and settles against me. I begin to drift off. I don’t know how much time goes by. I feel his thumping heartbeat and hear his breath.

“Look,” he rolls suddenly and stands up on the far side of the bed, walking around to my feet. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I have to check and see if there’s anything in your fridge.”

“No!” I leap up in front of my bedroom door. “It’s time for you to leave.” I put the shirt on and walk to the entryway of my apartment and stand there with my arms crossed.

“See, I knew you would judge me,” he says from across the room as he puts his T-shirt and sweater back on.

“I’m not judging you. I’m in over my head here. I can’t take care of you.” I throw up my hands in desperation.

“Okay, okay, you’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry I put you in this position.” He sits on the edge of the bed and takes out his phone. “I’ll call a cab.” I watch him make the call. Then he stands and walks toward me and puts one arm around my waist, my head tucked into his neck. Why does it have to be like this? I feel selfish for enabling him.  

I kiss him as many times as I can before the cab arrives.


VanillaCat Millermain